


Progress

by Imagines_Dreams



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, for both Reader and Connor, mentions of depression, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagines_Dreams/pseuds/Imagines_Dreams
Summary: Connor and you had been dating for a few months and best friend for longer, but as his depression grows worse, what are you to do? How can you help him without putting your well-being on the line?





	Progress

Your skin prickled, and no matter how much you hugged yourself and rubbed your arms, the prickling guilt didn’t go away. Then again, you deserved the guilt, didn’t you?

A day before, Connor had one of his episodes, and he almost hurt you. Almost. Almost. His hand was so close. His eyes were animalistic. You whimpered as you tried to pull that image from your mind. It scared you. That side of Connor, your boyfriend, your best friend, scared you. When he had realized what he almost did, he got even angrier at everything. He kept on shouting for you to get out.

So you did.

And once you did, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Shouldn’t you be helping him? Shouldn’t you have stayed? Isn’t that what everyone does in the movies? Did you not care?

You shook your head. No, of course, you cared. You just… You had to take care of yourself, too.

But… what about Connor? He was hurting and it pained you. How were you supposed to help him when helping him may hurt you? How were you supposed to let him heal if him being hurt in the first place hurt you? You pressed your books against your chest.

Connor didn’t come to school. You knew that. He also hadn’t answered your texts or calls.

You texted him again, and your wall of texts didn’t seem to do much. He was ignoring you. Rightfully so, maybe. You were the one that left.

You rubbed your arm. That damn prickling wasn’t going away anytime soon.

You feigned sickness, ditched class, and headed to the Murphy household. You had texted Connor that you were coming over, and he didn’t reply.

You took a deep breath before using the emergency key to get in. Everyone should be gone, the parents at work and Zoe at school. So it should only be Connor. “Hello?” you called. There was no reply.

Your heart dropped to the ground and sprinted to Connor’s room. You threw open the door. You saw the lump on the bed and reached out for the blankets.

You sighed. He was sleeping.

You smiled softly and brushed his hair back.

His room was messier than before. There was ripped paper from notebooks and broken pencils and random clothes strewn about the room. You bowed your head. Connor needed help, and you didn’t think you could help him.

You checked your email. You had recently gotten a job, so you were going to get some money soon. You just needed one call to put your plan in motion.

You smiled at Connor. At least, he was sleeping. You dropped your backpack and climbed onto the bed. You took a deep breath and as quietly and slowly as you could, you settled next to Connor and pulled up the covers. You needed some rest. It would help you think about how to help him.

When Connor woke up, he squinted against the light flooding his bedroom, but he couldn’t get up to close the blinds. Something was holding him down. Just as he touched the thing preventing him from letting the darkness flood the room, he paused. He turned around and immediately turned away.

You. His girlfriend. The girl he loved so dearly, and yet had almost… hurt. He told you to leave. He pressed his palm against his forehead. Was he dreaming? Was he having a nightmare? Was that real?

Connor looked around his room. Dirty as usual. Dirtier actually. Ripped pages and thrown trinkets. No, it was real. He had almost hurt the girl he loved. He told you to get out, and you did. Then, he lashed out.

He growled and pulled at his hair so forcefully, Connor nearly cried at the pain he brought onto himself. Why couldn’t he be better? Why couldn’t he just be a normal, happy, healthy person that you deserved? Why did he have to be so… broken?

You blinked a few times to wake yourself up. Once your eyes adjusted to the light, you gasped. You wrapped your arms around Connor. “Hey, you’re ok. You’re ok.”

“I’m not!” he screamed. “I’m not ok. I almost hit you, (Y/n)!” He got out of bed and paced the length of his room. “I-I could’ve hurt you! You shouldn’t be here. You’re not safe. You’re not safe with me, s-so you need to go.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but you could hear it. You hated that you could hear it so easily. “I need you to go.”

Your heart cracked as tears slid down his face. You slowly got out of the bed and resisted the urge to hug him. You knew him well enough to know physical contact wouldn’t make any of that better.

“Connor,” you spoke slowly, not even sure how you were supposed to react, “I want to stay.” You lip trembled as tears of your own dripped down your chin. “You know that I love you, right?”

“What can you love?” Connor shook his head and pulled at his hair again.

You reached out to stop him. Sometimes, he’d pull out chunks of his own hair, and it was painful to watch him. But, you resisted. No physical contact. Not yet. “I can love you, Connor.” You stepped closer, and he didn’t move away. “I can love how much you know about me. I can love how you let me braid your hair when I’m stressed, even if it annoys you.” You took another step. “I can love how when left alone, you can read five hundred pages in a few hours, and how you use absolutely anything and everything as a bookmark.” You smiled as you were finally only inches away from him. “I can and do love you, Connor.”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t get it. I-I don’t understand how-”

“I do.” You shrugged. “I just do.”

Your phone rang and shattered the tension and sadness filling the room. You picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon. Is this Ms. (y/l/n)?”

“This is she.”

“Ah, yes, you might remember me. My name is Dr. Castrano. Your boyfriend, Mr. Murphy, practically interrogated me a few months ago, yes?”

You smiled. “Sorry about that. I was sick, and he was really worried.” Worried enough to not realize the person he was interrogating was a psychiatrist, not a primary care doctor.

“I understand.” You could hear the psychiatrist rearrange some papers. “I also understand that you have been asking about therapy.”

You nodded. Then, you silently cursed yourself because he couldn’t see you nodding. “Yes, yes. Is there any way-”

“Your boyfriend is a fine man. I’m willing to give him a discount.”

You held your breath. “How much?” You squealed. “Thank you! I’ll- thank you. Thank you so much.”

The psychiatrist laughed. “Yes, of course. It’s nothing for the two of you.”

“Have a good day!” You beamed and hung up. Connor still had his hands in his hair, and tears were still running down his cheeks.

You smiled. “Connor, I just got a call from Dr. Castrano.”

Connor blinked a few times as he tried to remember who that was. He snapped. “Uh, that was… The guy with thick glasses.”

“Yes.”

Connor laughed through his tears. “I interrogated him so much.”

You nodded with a smile. “Another reason why I love you, by the way.”

“Why the fuck did he call you?” Connor asked. Then his eyes widened. “Wait, are you sick-”

“No, no, Connor.” You reached out, and when he didn’t flinch, you gently held his hand and explained, “He’s willing to give you therapy.”

Connor shook his head. “My parents-”

“Won’t have to know.” You shrugged as heat filled your cheeks. “Um, I have the money. I’m paying for it.”

His face went stoic. His lips a thin line, and his eyes so glassy you weren’t sure if he was looking at you.

You shied away. “I know that you wanna handle all this by yourself, and you don’t want anyone to know, but I just thought that since both of us need it… I mean, you need therapy and you said it yourself, sometimes your depression can get out of whack, and I can’t be here all the time, no matter how much I want to.” You let go of his hand. “I mean, I want to, desperately, but I need to-”

Connor pulled you into a hug, a crushing embrace where you could feel all of his warmth and love and passion. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and cried. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you. So much.”

You gasped and hugged him back just as tightly. “Of course,” you breathed. You pulled him closer and reveled in the feeling of having him in your arms and of being in his. “Anything for you.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “I fucking love you.” He pulled away and kissed you quickly. “I love you so fucking much.”

You laughed. He was back. Your Connor was happy again.

Of course, the road was hard. Therapy did help Connor, and he was never close to hurting you again. He still had his bad days. Days where he shut you out, shouted at you, or lied to you to get you to leave.

And, yeah, sometimes you suffered as a result, and you had to shut him out.

But, in the end, the two of you always found ways to be better.

One day, after graduation, Dr. Castrano asked to talk to both of you. After a year of therapy and talking, Dr. Castrano became a mentor for both of you, offering all the help that he could provide. You and Connor, however, had a bad feeling.

“He’s going to drop me as a patient,” Connor whispered.

You shook your head and leaned your head on his arm. “If he does, I’ll find you a new therapist.”

“We couldn’t afford this at full price, (Y/n).” He gulped. “And this is cheap.”

The nurse called for you.

You squeezed Connor’s hand before entering the office.

Dr. Castrano smiled at the two of you. “Ah, the lovely couple. Have a seat.”

Connor plainly said, “If you’re going to drop me as a patient just say it.” The anger and confusion and worry manifested itself in his dark eyes, dark tone, and even the grip he had on your hand.

Dr. Castrano blinked. “Mr. Murphy, a friend of mine lives near where you two are going to live. I contacted her, and she would happily provide you with the sessions you got from me at the same price.” The man smiled. “So, yes, I’m dropping you as a patient, but you will continue to get the therapy you need.”

Connor held a hand up to his mouth to hide his smile, but his crinkled eyes gave it away.

You squealed, jumped up and down, and shook Connor’s arm. “Connor!”

He broke out of his trance and wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground as he laughed so childishly. He giggled and shook the psychiatrist’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you!”

**Author's Note:**

> Connor just needs a good friend and a hug. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this! Please consider commenting to tell me what you think. Thank you so much, readers!


End file.
